


Underneath

by inkandstone



Series: To Come Back [2]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Donald Duck Disappears Instead of Della Duck, Donald Duck Needs a Hug, F/M, Isolation, M/M, Magic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandstone/pseuds/inkandstone
Summary: For a moment, Donald fears that water is going to pour through the cracks but not a single drop appears. His ears do pop and his stomach flips as the ship sinks. Peering through one of the windows, Donald catches a school of fish passing by and some plants dancing in the water. Its a peaceful sight that nearly makes Donald forget that he's trapped in a rocket ship, lost in the sea.
Relationships: Daisy Duck/Donald Duck, Della Duck & Donald Duck & Fethry Duck & Gladstone Gander, Della Duck & Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Donald Duck & Della Duck, Donald Duck & Goofy & Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Donald Duck/Storkules, José Carioca/Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles
Series: To Come Back [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722694
Comments: 41
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

He can barely breathe.

He can still take air in, but it was only a sliver of what he gets on the ground. The ground he is currently leaving behind _at breakneck speed._

Donald still didn't understand why Scrooge decided on a rocket instead of a toy one. _The Spear of Selene._ It was the title of a set of blueprints crammed in a box under Della's desk. Hidden because she knew he would object, knew he would argue, knew he would tie her to the bed to keep her from leaving. And she still had books on how to survive in space, papers with words like _four accelerometers_ and _phase modulation transceivers;_ probably read those while her kids rested under the heating lamp. Maybe kissed each egg goodnight and dreamt of the stars.

Donald remembered one dream he had. It was the type that ran away when you tried to see it in the morning, but one thing he knew: his family was safe and happy.

In the dream, he had been with them. In reality, he was breaking the atmosphere.

The ship was suddenly shaking, flinging him around and then he was drifting slowly toward the ceiling. It took a while for Donald to realize that the ship was going down and heading straight for the waters.

' _This is how I die. This is it,'_

Something bumps into his face, gently (absurdly, Donald thinks of butterflies landing on the curve of his wrist) and wide, terrified eyes stared back at him. Grasping at the spacesuit, Donald jammed himself into it and hastily secured while screaming as the _Spear of Selene_ went down, down, down; as if the goddess herself had thrown it down to pierce a beast called the sea.

The last thing he remembered was hearing someone yelling before everything went dark.

~

If Donald was being honest, it wasn't that terrifying.

He's not referring to the ship being launched and falling or the feeling of being rattled around like a pebble in a shoebox _or the sight of Della steadily climbing up the ladder leaving her family behind, leaving her_ kids _behind-_

No, Donald's referring to the part where he's descending into the water. He's done this before, but with a submarine and the situation was under control. He wishes he can say the same thing about this one.

For a moment, Donald fears that water is going to pour through the cracks but not a single drop appears. His ears do pop and his stomach flips as the ship sinks. Peering through one of the windows, Donald catches a school of fish passing by and some plants dancing in the water. Its a peaceful sight that nearly makes Donald forget that he's trapped in a rocket ship, lost in the sea.

_He's trapped in a rocket ship, lost in the sea._

"No!" The cry tore its way from his throat, sounding like a puckered scar. Donald rushed toward the control settings, but using them might as well be shooting in the dark-would pushing that button create an anti-gravitational force? Would that lever send him back up to the surface? 

Again, shooting in the dark. _Fuck._

 _"_ No," Donald whimpered. Maybe he could climb out of the rocket and float upwards? No, the force of the water might push him back. Maybe there was a buoy of some sort, an underwater flare gun? But it was so dark in the ship, how was he going to find it? Maybe-

The rocket lurches.

' _Oh, shit.'_

Something is _pulling_ the ship down even more and the glass helmet Donald is wearing is getting fogged up. Its suddenly much harder to breathe and his chest hurts, but it doesn't matter. He's going to die and he wasted his life trying and trying to be enough, to be something someone can look at in awe _and it wasn't enough oh God I'm going to die Mom Dad Della Uncle Scrooge someone help me-_

The world goes dark again.

~

When he wakes up, the metal walls of the rocket has split open.

Donald shouts and scrambles to his feet, staring in disbelief at the sky before him. Only it isn't the sky its the ocean, light colored blue filtering all around him. Donald stares, breathing hard and glances around.

He's on a rasied circular platform made of stone, wide enough to hold the broken remains of the Spear of Selene and more. It looks like a courtyard with a building-the style resambles that of the buildings in the East-that's eroding away. 

Something is _off_ about this place. It reminds Donald of when him, Della, and their cousins had tried to go on a calming vacation; keyword "tried" because Donald, after feeling his feathers stand on end too many times, had to help his sister and cousins escape off of a haunted cruise ship. This place, with its crumbling foundation and eerie silence, gives him that _off_ feeling.

Donald heads over to the broken shell of the rocket because _he needs a very strong drink_ when he realizes that he isn't walking slowly. His pace is slow, but not I'm-under-water-and-am-looking-for-treasure slow. As if he's still on dry land.

He doesn't want to test his theory by taking off his hemlet. Looking around, Donald notices the change of color, his surroundings being a lighter blue than other areas. Something silver caught his eye and he discovered a thin line shining in the rock. Following it, Donald saw that a silver line circled around the Spear of Selene and himself. The line must be enchanted, but how was the big question. A quick search through Della's duffel bag didn't help. Although, he did find a packet of black licorice flavored gum called Oxy-Chew. 

Something caught his eye. Donald peered down at the packet of gum and noticed Gyro Gearloose's face beaming up at him. " 'The gum that produces oxygen...while you chew!'," Donald read outloud. "Huh. Convenient."

He knew about Gyro and how his inventions could go the wrong way, but there was no other option. With a dry mouth and trembling hands, Donald quickly unscrewed his helmet and casted it aside. Then, he all but shoved several sticks of gum into his mouth.

The familar feeling of choking, of losing air didn't hit him. Astonished, Donald stared at the gum packet in his hand. _'Della really thought this through.'_

_Della..._

_Della._

_Della!_

Anger-no, _fury_ is something he's familar with. It rushes up hot and makes him feel as if he could breathe something deadly. Donald gave a shout-or a scream, it was probably a scream-and slammed his fist into the ground beneath him. Breathing hard, he grabbed a twisted piece of metal and threw it hard. It clanged against the Spear of Selene which suffered kicks and punches that Donald rained down.

Della is his sister. He knows her. Her loyalty, her courage, her boldness, her ignorance and assumption, her stubborness and carefree attitude _that always brings more and more and more and more trouble._ But, not to her, _never_ to her because she's Della Duck. 

Donald's sister can talk as high as the mountains, but he'll always know her roots and beginnings. She will always be Della, Dumbella, _pain in the ass Della-_

And Scrooge! What was going through his head that made him think an actual rocket was a good gift to a hyper, 20-something woman who lived and breathe adventure. Nothing, apparently, and the imbicile was stupid enough to not keep the plans hidden away.

_'They always do this, they always manage to turn everything into shit and I get the short end of the stick do they even think do they even care-?'_

Something shatters and Donald stops because he is _not_ getting glass in his foot again and there probably isn't a first aid kit here and-

His helmet is a bunch of shards lying on the ground. Donald is still breathing and he's suddenly aware of a packet of gum that's been stepped on. He should pick them up, salvage what he can, come up with a plan.

Instead, Donald allows himself to fall to his knees and weep bitterly for himself. At least, in the bottom of the ocean no one can hear him sob.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what he does on the first day-what time even is it? Did Della pack a watch?-underwater. Scribbiling down ways to survive, doing quick calcultaions, poking around in the ship to find anything to help. He doesn't stop even when his feet begin to ache or when his temples begin to throb; not even when a sharp pain in his stomach indicated that he had missed dinner. Donald kept on going because he had to do something to survive.

Donald has a good cry. Even though his head is spinning with all these emotions, and he's curled up in a pitiful ball, he has a cry that makes him feel a little better.

After his good cry, he sits backs on his haunches and breathes. In, out. Gather it up deep in his gut and spills it all out. Finally, he stands up.

It was a good cry, the one that left you feeling relieved in a weird way. The one that feels like all of your problems have been washed away.

He can't sit here and wallow. He needs to make plans, gather up everything. Still, Donald sat there with a heavy feeling weighing down on his chest.

_'You have to move, Donald,'_ a voice that sounded so much like his father whispered. It was enough to make him stand, wincing at the ache in his ankles. Walking over to the crashed Spear of Selene, Donald carefully stepped into it and found the duffel bag Della had packed. She had packed books, an empty notebook with a pen tucked into it, and a bag filled with slices of apples. Obviously, Della had packed enough for a short trip.

_But if she had, if she had stayed away for years, if she had decided to leave her family behind because she's selfish-_

"Water," Donald said out loud, his own voice louder than he thought. He couldn't find anything that might filter the water around him; even though ducks could still drink salt water, he couldn't live on it alone. Maybe he could boil it, but there wasn't anything akin to a stove. 

"The engines," Donald muttered, picking up the black notebook and flipping it open. On the first page, he began writing down everything. How to boil water to make it safer to drink. How to use the engines to heat up food-fish and other sea creatures surrounding Donald-and generate heat.

Hydration. He could drink a tiny bit of salt water, but not for forever. Donald remembers Fethry- _something in his chest aches thinking of his little cousin, so far away-_ explaining that boiling salt water can help. Which means Donald will have to protect the engines with his life. There's a blanket in the duffel bag, one of those weighted ones that Della shares with him.

_'And you'll never see her again, never hold her or yell at her, never hug Scrooge or talk to him or ever step on dry land-'_

"Food," Donald says through clenched teeth. There's the bag of apples, the pack of Oxy-chew, and one water bottle. But, he was surrounded by fish and sea creatures that are hopefully edible. Maybe he can use a stick, and try and fish for food. But, would that puncture a hole in the water surrounding him? Why is it dry around this area and how did the line come to be? What even was this place?

Either the place was enchanted or cursed. 'Enchanted' seems like a good word to describe the place; it was old, with it's intricate designs barely visible. Maybe a sea witch, or a minor god threw a tantrum. Speaking of gods, would Poseidon or any god related to Storkules be able to swim by? Or would Donald have to come up with an S.O.S. signal himself.

_'You really think you have the brains for that? You think you'll get lucky enough?'_

"Shut up," Donald hisses and wants to smach himself. He hasn't even been down here for that long and already he's going crazy. Like he needs any more of _that_ when he already has problems from the Nazy and years of people talking over his _~~scratchy ugly unitelligable~~ _voice.

This is what he does on the first day-what time even is it? Did Della pack a watch?-underwater. Scribbiling down ways to survive, doing quick calcultaions, poking around in the ship to find anything to help. He doesn't stop even when his feet begin to ache or when his temples begin to throb; not even when a sharp pain in his stomach indicated that he had missed dinner. Donald kept on going because he had to do something to survive.

_'Are you going to try and survive, you clumsy fool. Are you going to try and live, and then-what? Going to become the sea equivalent of a cave-man. You don't have Scrooge or Della or even Gladstone's luck. You're_ nothing _down here.'_

Donald closes his eyes and the image of Della's shocked face flashes before him. He thinks of hugging her when she told him she was pregnant, of pushing a shopping cart filled with toys and onesies, of running away from angry spirits in a dark forest. Suddenly, it shifts to him laughing with Mickey and Goofy, of him yelling at them because they're too trusting of strangers, of him kissing Panchito and Jose and Daisy, heart bursting with love and warmth. He thinks of the taste of sea salt, the rough feeling of rope as he turns the sails, being rocked to sleep by the waves.

All of these-moments, memories, momentos-are more precious than gold itself. They are what keeps him going.

Donald clenched his hand into a fist. He decided he will be and make _something_ down here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -ducks have a gland that helps them drink salt water. In the duck universe, I imagine that ducks can't do that all the time bc human biology or smth.
> 
> Donald really about to ding dong ditch death and leave a pie that's about to explode, huh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No use mopin' around," Donald muttered, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth felt. He stands up.
> 
> He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! DESCRIPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK! WARNING

In all honesty, Donald should have done something important.

He was currently-or probably-millions of miles deep underwater with nothing but a rocket ship, food mothers would pack for their kids in preschool, and the clothes on his back (his hat was gone and it felt wrong to not be wearing it). He should do something. Instead, he dragged the duffel bag over into a corner that didn't have any broke glass and took a nap. When he woke up, the world was a darker shade of blue, a dark navy.

Its too quiet at the bottom of the sea. Silence presses against your ears until you think there's a strange beeping sound, but really it's just your brain tricking you. Donald can't help but tense up; there was always the calm before the storm (or a monster crashing through, an arch nemesis running full speed at them). There was always something around the corner, and the shadows thrown across the rocky ground he stood on were not helping.

Donald knows that it's night, and even though it hurts his mind drifts off to Della and Scrooge. How were they doing? Did Della make it back home safely? Did they see the Spear of Selene sink underwater? Was Scrooge sending out a rescue team? Was he sorry that he had built the Spear? Was Della sorry?

_'She better be fucking sorry. This whole mess is her fault. What the hell gave her the idea to even take the rocket? That old bird, probably. It's Scrooge's fault too, the old cheapskate. The good Lord would lose patience with both of them. They never listen to me because who cares about what boring, worry wart Donald? No, lets focus on Della and Scrooge, the adrenaline junkies. Always too reckless, never caring about anything but the next adventure and the next and the next and the next-'_

Donald clenched his teeth and pounded a fist on the metal beneath him.

He didn't want to feel like this, ugly feelings seething inside of him. Bitterness, sorrow. And anger. There would always be anger, tugging him along. Its makes him want to punch something, and a dark part of him wants to punch someone, but he can't. Won't.

He _wants_ to blame Della. It seems ideal and appropriate, but Scrooge was the one who was building the Spear behind their back. He might as well put out a bowl of candy with a sign that said "Take one, please!" 

Fine. It's Scrooge's fault. And maybe a little bit of Della's. And Donald's because he should've done more. He really should've.

"No use mopin' around," Donald muttered, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth felt. He stands up.

He had work to do.

~

He tries to keep track of time.

As he goes about his day moving this and that, fishing for food, rationing and making calculations, he tries to count in his head. Hours, minutes, seconds. But, it's hard when you're trying to survive. The only thing that indicated the day was over was the darkening of the waters around him. Eventually, he gave up because there was too much going on.

Donald almost has it down with the seasons. Granted, it is chilly down here when he isn't wearing his space suit, but not that bad. Only when he can see his breathe does Donald know that it's fall or winter. During those times, he spends nearly all day next to the engines, shivering. Sometimes, he paces around while swinging his arms which help.

He dances, too. It sounds weird, but it's much more fun than going around in circles. Donald tries to remember what Panchito and Jose taught him when they went on their roadtrip after college. Latin ballroom, samba, an improvised version of bachata, Jarabe Tapatío. He closes his eyes and imagine he's in Rio de Janeiro, Jose's hometown, dancing with two beautiful men on a warm summer night with the taste of mangoes dancing on their tongues.

(He takes one step and places a hand on an imaginary partner's waist, and just-sobs. He's so used to someone taking the lead and it doesn't feel right not having a partner. It shouldn't hurt this much to miss Panchito's laughter or Jose's sly comments. It shouldn't, but it does and Donald hopes to God they know that he loves them like how children love splashing in puddles on a rainy day. He hopes they're happy.

He thinks of Daisy and how she always had a fire in her eyes and prays she's doing well. Knowing Daisy, she would look lovely as ever as she goes about her day, a determined grin on her face. Donald would have given anything to pack up a picnic basket for the two of them. Go to the park and sit by the river, laughing and forgetting about the world.

It scares him that it hurts so much to miss the people you love.)

For a while, he didn't talk that much unless he swore because _the damn thing was too heavy and it landed on his foot!_ Then, he started to sing and whistle to fill in the silence. Songs from the Three Caballeros, _Moon Indigo_ , some tunes from Red Nichols, old nursery rhymes. It hurts at first, but after a gargle of water-drinkable, after boiling it-he's able to reach that high note of _Have You Ever Been to Bahai._

_~_

Sleeping is hard.

Donald misses the days when, as a kid, he could run around like wild and clock out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Then, he joined the Navy and he would do join it again, truly. But, he leaves with a heavy feeling pressing down on his chest and a scream lodged in his throat after another nightmare. Couple that with all of the near death experiences from Scrooge's adventures-being stuck in an ice cube, shrunken down, pushed through a portal-and there were days where Donald was barely holding it together. He would have good days where it seemed the world rooting for him or bad days where he sometimes hurt people.

(Della and Gladstone and Fethry says its alright but he knows it isn't okay. Knows that _he_ isn't okay.)

Donald can't rest because it's almost impossible to. Every time he tries to sit down and take a break, something heavy presses down on his chest, and it doesn't leave unless he gets up and does something. And if he isn't doing anything useful, then what's the point in living? 

So, he works. Works through the throbbing pain in his feet and the ache between his shoulders. Works even when hunger pangs plague him and his hands shake. Works because the thoughts in his head are like thunder clouds in the distance, ominous and somber. Works because that's all you can do when you're alone and the only voice is yours as it whistles while you work, but there is no merry tune in the song. When Donald sleeps-more like _if_ -there's no doubts or anxieties plaguing his dreams.

One day- _is it a day? He isn't really sure-_ he closes his eyes just to rest. But, when he wakes up Donald knows he's slept for too long. It shouldn't bother him that much but it does. He wasted too much time, just sat there like a lazy bum even though he was in a dangerous situation, he still needed food for dinner but how was he going to get it, it was too dark and _there was no light-_

His chest tightens in the worst way possible, somethings _choking_ him, and he's dying _he didn't survive he failed-_

_He failed-_

_Useless-_

_Always messing up, can't do anything right-_

_Nobody-_

_Nothing-_

_I'm scared and alone and cold-_

_Please-_

_I want to go home._

( _Take me back, please, I can't, the weight on my chest and shoulders, please-)_

After, Donald feels wrung out, like a wet rag on a hot summer day. Taking a shuddering breathe in, he stands up and gets back to work.

~

There's a TV in the corner of Donald's room.

"Room" is an understatement. When the Spear of Selene crashed, a good portion of it's side was shattered, leaving a gaping hole open. Donald had dragged Della's duffel bag next to the chalkboard and sleeps there. On top of a metal desk propped up by rocks is sits a small wooden bucket filled with drinkable water. Next to it are books Della had packed. _Constellations Up Above, So You're On The Moon, An Astronauts Guide..._

So, no, it's not technically a room. More like a ragged portion of a garage, but it's his.

Donald doesn't know why there was a TV inside the rocket; there were screens at the front of the ship. Maybe someone put it there and forgot about it. After all, the rocket wasn't finished yet.

It was as dead as a doorknob. Donald had tried to hook it up to one of the wires from the engine room, but none of them fit. And even if they did, how would he be able to get a signal? He should have taken it apart and used it to for something useful, not stare at it and imagine scenes from _Anxieties_ were playing on the black screen. 

A memory suddenly came to him: him and Scrooge in a cave that so happened to be filled with magical crystals. Maybe it was Ogygia or just another island near Greece. What Donald remembers was Scrooge breaking off a bit of crystal and using it to power the tiny electric stove he had brought. "Jus' in case," Scrooge had said, handing Donald a small bowl of broccoli and cheese soup. (He doesn't miss him, he doesn't. But, sometimes, Donald would sing _Ba Mo Leanabh_ because that was what Scrooge was sing when he drank too much whiskey. Sometimes, he ties strips of cloth together the way his uncle showed him. Sometimes, he missed an old face with bright eyes behind glasses.)

Donald glanced towards where the crumbling building lay, mind racing.

~

"This is a bad idea," he said out loud as he approached the building.

Donald had dubbed the silver line surrounding him the Separating Line (yes, he knew it wasn't creative, shut up). The Separating Line was large enough to encircle him, the Spear, and the old temple in front of him. It had only aloud one small building while leaving the other larger buildings for the fish. 

Donald gripped the large flashlight in his hand-he rarely used it, too scared to waste it's battery-and glanced up at the building before him. It would have been impressive back in it's time. The corner of the roofs might've pointed out gracefully, but had lost it's edge. Several of the windows had been broken by nature, and the left side of the steps had crumbled. The building filled Donald with sadness; once it might have been the talk of the town but now it had been forgotten.

"We're the same," Donald told the building, his voice seeming too loud in the silence.

Taking a deep breathe, he walked up the stairs and pushed open the doors. It gave a long creak like something out of a cheesy horror movie and the smell of dust and mold creeped up on him. 

Donald flashed his flashlight around as he walks cautiously. Nature had been harsh on the building. There was furniture slumped in neglect and decay, a thick blanket of dust lying on all of them. There was a wooden pillar that looked like it was on the verge of breaking.

Donald was just shining the light at a wooden chair when his foot was suddenly plunged into water. Startled, he backed up and swung his flashlight to catch sight of a shark staring right at him.

With a shout, Donald spun around and scrambled to get away _because holy fuck there's a shark nope not today_ only to slam into a pillar.

The same pillar that was broken.

The same pillar that was creaking ominously.

"Uh oh," Donald muttered, backing away.

He doesn't turn around but he does hear a crash that only makes him run faster. Finally, when the ground beneath him has changed from wooden to rock-like he stops and breathes. Looking over his shoulder, Donald can see that a small portion of the building had collapsed. If he had stayed there any longer, he would've been crushed. The thought chilled him.

He was about to turn around and take a nap _since five years of his life have been cleaved off of him_ when he spotted something at the bottom of the steps. Donald knelt down and picked up a large piece of parchment, it's edges ridden with holes. Someone had written a couple of sentences on it and left a blotchy spot on the right hand corner.

The parchment seemed worthless, but Donald knew that looks could be deceiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Moon Indigo is by Duke Ellington, one of the songs that was popular in the 1930s.  
> -Red Nichols was an American jazz cornetist, composer, and jazz bandleader  
> -Donald just...has a lot of issues??? And he shoves it into a corner of mind to deal with later (spoiler alert: he never deals with them). No wonder he's salty sometimes  
> -I just realized that he's quarantined alone LMAO  
> -Anxieties was the show Donald and Uno watched in the Duck Avenger comics.  
> -Ba Mo Leanabh is a gaelic scottish lullaby. Historically, after the execution of the Clan Chief MacGregor of Glenstrae his widow sang this song to their child.  
> -The building Donald goes into is suppose to be one of the Korean palaces.  
> -Jarabe Tapatío, sometimes known as the Mexican hat dance, is the national dance of Mexico
> 
> Welp, that's that. Damn, I'm so mean to Donald. Don't worry, Donald, your family is currently holding your funeral while your sister raises three kids, your uncle grieves, your two younger cousins are in dangerous situations, and everyone misses you.  
> But things will get better!  
> See ya in the next one, scouts!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lose all your marbles. That was Grandma Duck’s favorite saying. Donald supposed it was appropriate to remember it since he was losing his.

One time, Donald and his cousins had found a book written in Arabic.

At the time, they didn’t know what Arabic looked like. They just knew that you didn’t read it left-to-right but right-to-left. Della had shouted that it was probably a prophecy while Donald and Fethry tore apart their grandmother’s library looking for a book to help. Nearly half an hour in, Fethry had realized that they should’ve asked Gladstone to use his luck for help. That was around the time Grandma Duck walked in and proceeded to give them a harsh lecture about respecting works of art.

“And if you all can’t figure out what this means,” she was saying, waving the book in the air. “Just go to the library and use the computers there! Honestly, it's at the worst times that you children lose all your marbles.”

 _Lose all your marbles._ That was Grandma Duck’s favorite saying. Donald supposed it was appropriate to remember it since he was losing _his._

The text written on the parchment was made mostly out of shapes. He had a feeling that it was Chinese but dismissed it; it seemed too easy and wasn’t there another language similar to Chinese? Jean the Light Bulb-a tiny little thing with a small crack on its head-is no help as she snarkily tells him to give up.

Donald let out a frustrated sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered to Jean the Light Bulb, standing up from his makeshift bed to stretch his legs. A part of him wanted to be positive and insist that he was going to get it. But, a cynical part of him said _what did you expect, for things to fall into your lap? You have to work hard for them, idiot._

The scroll had to have some importance. Maybe an explanation or a small tidbit to this whole place. If he could go back into the building and look for more scrolls. Except it would be too dangerous and if he injured himself what then? And what if the injury got bad? There was only a small first-aid kit-

A loud splash cut through Donald’s thoughts.

He jumps, does _not_ scream, and whirls around. There’s a flash of white before it disappears behind the water wall, and Donald has to blink because _was that a hand?_

“Oh, no,” Donald whispered, dread pooling into his stomach. He isn’t new to random sea creatures poking around his underwater home, and often they end up as dinner. He had never realized that there might be a chance some poor soul would get torn to shred underwater, and drift around like a plastic bag in the air.

_"Maybe if I slowly back away, I’ll avoid whatever killed the guy.’_

The hand pops out again, making Donald jump, and only then does he see the webbed fingers. _‘No way…’_

A head replaces the hand, and a loon with long brown hair and brilliant green eyes stares at him. Tiny fangs curl down from their beak, and a dark grey tail curls around them. Donald can see two more people standing behind the loon.

For a moment, no one says anything. Donald is having a hard time to breathe. How long has it been since he had a conversation with someone that wasn’t Jean the Light Bulb (he loves her, but good god is she bad at charades) or the emptiness around him? Hell, when was the last time he had seen another person beside the picture of him, Scrooge, and Della standing behind the eggs? 

It takes him a while to realize that he’s still staring at the people before him. “H-Hello," Donald says, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth felt and the scratchiness of his voice. 

“Uh,” the long haired loon glanced back at their friends before facing Donald again. “Hi. How did you get here?”

Donald knows they’re talking in another language, he _knows_ that. But he could understand it, and something about the musical tilt of the bird’s voice pulled. It made Donald want to be closer to the sound, to hear it so that it’ll play on repeat in his head. 

“Uh,” Donald says as he glances around at the makeshift home he made, and his tattered clothes. “I’m not sure.”

A second head stuck it’s way through the water wall, this time a woman with silvery hair. “Well, I’m not surprised. You are in a cursed palace.”

“Cursed palace?!” The exclamation made the other birds flinch slightly but Donald didn’t care. He scrambled for the scroll as his mind connected the dots. The glowing circle, the ability to breathe even though he was at the bottom of the ocean, the ancient building. It all made sense and Donald wanted to sob in relief because he had been so confused with the whole mess.

“Scroll, you say?” A crystalline voice wrapped around Donald’s head and made him turn. “You won’t be able to read it. It's in Ancient Korean.”

“H-How do you know,” Donald asked, curious.

The third person of the group stuck their head through to send Donald a wide grin. Fangs glinted and scraggly black hair hung around the bird’s face. “We’re sirens, silly duck.”

Donald’s mouth went dry. He remembers Scrooge ushering him and Della down below a boat anytime they traveled to Ithaquack, and advised them to stuff their ears with wax. Scrooge warned them of sirens, how their bewitching songs lured too many people into traps. Even with the wax muffling all sounds of the world, Donald was more than once tempted to take them out to hear.

Dangerous. That’s what sirens were. And Donald was trapped with _three of them._

“Yes, but it's mostly because we’re near South Korea and we’ve been alive for centuries,” the long haired loon was saying, oblivious to Donald’s internal screaming. “But, whenever we sing anyone can understand us regardless of the languages we speak. I’m Kwan Jin, by the way.”

“Hee-Ra Sung,” the woman with silver hair introduced.

“And I am Ji-Hun Sin!” The loon with short, dark brown hair leaned forward, a glint in his eyes. “Now, answer us this, little duck. _What are you doing here?”_

His voice changed from rough like the bark of a tree to the soft silkiness of ice on a winter day. A musical note ranged out and moved like smoke, wrapping around Donald’s head and drawing him close. He wanted to hear more, to feel more-

“Enough.”

Donald blinked and suddenly he was inches away from the water wall, so close that his beak was already wet. With a yelp, he scrambled backwards and sent the sirens a glare. “What’s the big idea?!”

Kwan Jin raised his hands to placate the duck. “Please calm down. We’re sorry about what happened. Ji-Hun can be a bit...rambunctious.”

Hee-Ra Sung muttered,”That’s putting it lightly” earning a glare from Ji-Hun. “It's not my fault that I revert back to my instincts!” he short haired loon cried out.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Hee-Ra shot back.

Donald could see the argument brewing and decided to intervene. “What are you three doing here?” he asked.

“Oh, we got bored in our cove and decided to wander around. Well, I wanted to wander around, but these two followed me.”

“We were bored, too,” says Hee-Ra with Kwan Jin nodding along. 

“Well, we saw this place and you, and figured why not help the poor bird and take him away-”

“Wait.” There’s suddenly too much air for Donald and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Wait. You’re going to take me away? From here.”

Kwan Jin studies him before smiling softly. “Yes, we will.”

It takes those three words for Donald to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahah.....hi everyone.
> 
> I would like to say I am really sorry about not updating the story. I've been so busy with school, college applications, and life in general that I haven't had the time to write. I hope you all understand. I will try and finish this story so don't worry. Again, I'm really sorry that this chapter seems like its rushed. Stay safe, scouts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, Donald didn’t like to be vulnerable or ask for help because that meant he was too slow to handle simple concepts. But it felt nice to have someone look at the dark circles under his eyes and the tremor in his shoulder, and not hesitate to reach out a hand to help.

If it had been any other day, Donald would’ve died in shame at the thought of three strangers seeing him break down. 

Instead, he let himself sob-with tears of _joy_ and ignore the three sirens infront of him that could probably murder him. Donald shouldn’t be this worked up about a helping hand but it had been years since someone had looked at him and thought, _’He needs my help.’_

Again, Donald didn’t like to be vulnerable or ask for help because that meant he was too slow to handle simple concepts or that he owed that person something. But it felt nice to have someone look at the dark circles under his eyes and the tremor in his shoulder, and not hesitate to reach out a hand to help.

“Are you alright?” Hee-Ra asked. Donald was still on his knees, head bowed and had to hold up a finger in order to tell her to give him a minute. When he raised his head, the three sirens we’re still there and thankfully not a hallucination. 

“Well, know that you’ve calmed down,” Kwan says cheerfully. “We can start planning!”

“Perfect!” Ji-Hun exclaimed. “I was thinking you, Kwan, could start singing and then I could throw myself towards him-”

“W-What are you talking about?”

“...Are we not eating him?”

“Are we-No! We’re helping him!”

“Then what are we doing for lunch?”

Donald and Hee-Ra watched this exchange like a tennis ball match until Donald felt irritation flare up in his chest. He shot up to his feet and marched over to Ji-Hun, teeth clenched. “No one is eating me!” he yelled and his voice echoed off of the watery walls.

For a moment, Ji-Hun stares in shock with wide, dark eyes. Then, his beak curls into what looks like a grin even though it seems like he’s bearing his teeth. “Well,” Ji-Hun says in a sing-song voice that leaves Donald dizzy. “Don’t you have a fire in your heart?”

_‘This son of a-’_

A feathered hand suddenly lands between Donald and Ji-Hun, causing both of them to yelp and jump backwards. Hee-Ra looks down on them with unamused grey eyes. “This isn’t the time to throw a catfish fight. We should leave immediately, it's getting dark. Please, go pack up your things,” she addressed Donald.

Donald blinked, his brain rebooting for a split second (maybe it was because it had been so long since someone had helped him and he was still trying to process interacting with people). “R-Right!” he stuttered out, moving towards the broken hull of the Spear of Selene where he kept his belongings.

He shakes out the duffel bag that served as a bed and begins to fill it. A small stack of clothes he had made from the extra spacesuits, the books, and the nearly empty packet of Oxy-Chew. He thinks for a second before turning towards a small pile of rocks that he had grabbed through the watery wall of his home. Amongst the pile, a sky blue stone the size of a baby’s palm stood out. Donald quickly tucked that away into the duffel bag before turning back to the sirens waiting. He was about to ask them how they were planning on leaving when something crossed his mind.

“Uh, give me five minutes,” Donald said before quickly turning to Jean the Lightbulb. He kneels down and stares at the only companion he had during the lonely days underwater. Jean had been a constant presence, always there with a snarky comment or a helpful tip with a familiar voice.

“Well, I guess this is where we leave,” Donald began, blinking tears away from his eyes. “I wish I could take you with me but there’s no room in the bag.”

_‘You’re abandoning me in my time of need.’_

“I’m not abandoning you-”

_‘You’re thinking about yourself again.’_

“I’m just trying to survive-”

_‘Admit it, you’re leaving me.’_

“Fine! Maybe I am leaving you but it's because I want to live! I-I want to see the sun again and if you keep on acting like this then it's done!”

Donald turns on heel and leaves, a ringing in his ears and a lump in his throat.

_‘Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. It doesn’t matter now. You’re moving forward. Shut it out. Out of sight, out of mind.’_

_"_ How are we doing this," he asked, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the tight grip he had on the strap of the duffel bag.

Hee-Ra sent him a strange look before answering. "What people don't know about sirens is that our powers extend beyond just luring sailors away. Newer generations have been able to manipulate the water around us for our own benefit. What I'll do is create a bubble around your head so that you can still breathe while we take you home with us."

"Can all three of you do that?" Donald asks, glacning at Kwan and Ji-hun.

Kwan shook his head. "Not yet. You have to go through training to be able to manipulate water. Hee-Ra is the most experienced."

"Well," Donald began, straightening his shoulders and feeling hope unfluring in his chest. "Let's get to it!"

Hee-Ra sent him a small smile before raising her arms. With slow, graceful slopes of her hands, a stream of water poked its way through the watery wall seperating Donald and the three sirens. It floated around like a deep blue snake before making it's way towards Donald. He jumped at the sensation of water on his throat but relaxed as the water wrapped itself around his head. Donald can't help but compare it to the ruined space suit in the Spear of Selen's broken hull.

"You look like those people we see who come down with cameras," Ji-hun remarks, leaning forward for a better look. "Marvelous job, Hee-Ra!"

"Thank you. Now, when we travel back home make sure that you stick close to me so that I can control the bubble better. If you don't, you'll be crushed from the pressure of being so far deep underwater."

Donald gulped, imagining himself crushed like an empty soda can. "Got it." He was about to step into the water when he noticed Kwan and Ji-hun staring at him. "What?" Donald asked them, slightly irritated. 

Kwan startled. "Oh! Uh, we don't know your name."

Oh. Donald felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Oh, right. I'm Donald Duck."

Kwan gave him a grin, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Well, Donald Duck, let's be off!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gloved hands struggle with a TV, moving the antenna this way and that. When an image appears, the hands back off immediatly. But, the image is marred by static so that it's barely visible. You can hardly see the figures, and the reporter's words are scratchy.
> 
> To Donald, it's progress. He grins widely. "Oh, boy!"

There had been times when Donald had dared to stick his hand or leg through the water wall. Only when he was so bored that he actually began counting the number of threads on his shirt. Each time, the ocean had seemed to pull at him as if it wanted to drag him in a watery embrace. 

~~_For one second, he had wanted to step through and let go. Had inched forward. Thought about what would happen to him cynically. And everytime he would back away like a coward._ ~~

You would think that being surrounded by water would mean you could swim easily but the reality is that it's impossible. It's impossible because even though you were born for the water there’s still death looming over you. Impossible because being more than 12,000 feet underwater is a death wish and it's only because of magic that you’re still alive. 

That gets Donald. The fact that he’s still breathing even when he’s surrounded by sirens and only protected by a bubble. Really, the amount of near death situations Donald has been in astonishing. 

For the first five minutes, he had been okay with just swimming after the sirens. But he had become too skinny, too weak and fell behind more than once. After the fourth time of stopping for Donald to catch up, Ji-hun darts forward and grabs his hand. Donald’s immediate response is to tug away, but the siren had an iron grip on his hand. Ji-hun gave him what looked like a reassuring grin in the dim light and simply tugged the duck along. Donald simply accepted his fate. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Fethry or Della tugging him along to go fishing in the long river a stones away from grandma’s.

Hee-Ra made sure to stay close, hands moving occasionally in order to keep the bubble around Donald secured. Kwan led them through a large school of silver fish, crabs who raised their pincers at them, plankton and sea anemones and other plants that were alien to Donald. They swam under the somber gaze of a great white whale. They swam as the light began to fade. Occasionally, Ji-hun would surge forward with a powerful twist of his tail and do spins in the water while tugging Donald along. Donald tried not to let him see the small smile on his face whenever that happened.

Eventually, the sight of a small town comes into view. Kwan visibly perks up at this and opens his beak to sing. Donald jerked back, hands already raising to cover his ears before remembering that a bubble muffled every sound around him. Even if Kwan sang Donald to his death the sound wouldn’t even travel underwater. But sirens were magic and magic tended to ignore the laws of reality. 

Donald couldn’t hear the singing, but could guess that it was a signal to notify the town that their people were coming back. He felt Ji-hun squeeze his hand before pulling him to the town. A knot tightened in Donald’s chest. What if the sirens in the town tried to kill him? What if they didn’t help him? Had Donald let himself be dragged into a trap. It was too late to back down and swim back to the palace ruins as Donald and the trio of sirens drew closer to the wooden gates of the town. They towered over them and had sirens perched on top of them, peering down at the newcomers. After what looked like a brief exchange between Kwan and one of the sirens, the gates slowly opened.

The town itself was not as small as Donald thought. Caves stood in a circle, the ones as big as a garage at the bottom while the ones as small as a cupboard sat on top. Sirens of all ages swam in and out of them, the scales on their tales flashing beautifully. There was what looked like large cages towards the back where some of the sirens we’re putting things away in. What really stood out was a building that looked similar to the one Donald had often ventured in although this one was not in a state of decay.

As he was led further into the town, Donald quickly caught the attention of its occupants. Gasps rang out and whispers were starting to spread. A spike of irritation shot through Donald. Why were they gossiping about him like a pair of midwives?

Ji-hun suddenly stopped. Donald glanced over to the front and blanched when he saw a group of sirens making their way towards them. Looking at their spears and the pieces of metal covering their elbows and chest, Donald assumed they were the authority figures of this town. He couldn’t hear anything the group and Kwan was saying but judging by the tense look on their faces it probably had something to do with letting outsiders in. 

Donald’s grip on his bag, which was dry thanks to another bubble Hee-Ra made, tightened. He was familiar with this whole thing; discovering a new town, meeting with the people in charge, arguing and bargaining their way into their home for foreign food they give you out of politeness. Scrooge always made sure to keep his pockets filled with antique gold coins and pearl necklaces. Donald did have a gem in his bag but was not about to part ways with it.

He’s so busy watching Kwan and the guards (was that the right word?) argue like it's a tennis game that he failed to notice someone creeping up on his left. A squawk left him when he felt something cold brush up against his slide. Glancing down, Donald saw that it was a trio of children blinking up at him with bright eyes. The one closest to him had accidentally brushed her tail against him and shrunk back slightly, auburn curls swaying in the water.

Donald gave the young girl a small smile and a little wave. The girl and her friends-two boys-grinned back at him, exposing alarmingly sharp teeth. Donald tried not to think about the poor fish caught by them. 

Ji-hun tugs on his hand and suddenly he’s being dragged to the large building in the middle of the town. The door opens to reveal long hallways with desks pushed up against the walls. Sirens drifted here and there, but turned their heads at the sight of the duck being tugged down the hall. They were still staring even as Donald was led into a large room.

Hee-Ra tapped on his arm and when Donald turned he saw that she was moving her arms again in smooth arcs. The bubble around Donald’s head grew until it encircled his upper body including his arms. The female siren stuck her head into the bubble and gave a comforting smile.

“We’ve brought you here to the heads of our village in order to help you,” Hee-ra began explaining to Donald. “However-”

“They want to know if I’m a threat or not,” Donald cut her off, allowing himself to gaze up at the group of older sirens in silver jewelry conversing on one of the balconies in the room they were in. “I used to go on adventures. I know how villages and towns treat unwanted strangers.” 

Hee-Ra regarded him silently with dark eyes, her smile gone. “How much experience do you have?”

“Well, one time I got stuck in a giant ice cube-"

Donald's story was interrupted by Kwan suddenly appearing before him. The brown haired loon looked uncharacteristically somber as he poked his head through the bubble and said,"The heads of the village will see you now. Choose your words wisely, Donald."

With his heart beating wildly, Donald made his way over to the front of the room. He walked between a row of pews and stopped before the group of elder sirens. There were about five of them, each with crow eyes and small scars on their hands. Silver glinted from their wrists and wrapped around their waists. Donald thought back to how Kwan said he was had been alive for centuries, and wondered how old the elders of the village were.

One of the sirens flapped her tail and moved forward, strands of silver that had escaped her bun trailing behind her. With a wave of her arm, the bubble around Donald expanded until it was inches from the siren's beak. She stuck half of her body in and bowed, her companions following suit. _"Annyeong haseoy,"_ the siren greeted. "Welcome to our village, Donald Duck. My name is Hwa-Yong Son."

"Donald quickly bowed back. _"A-Annyeong haseoy,"_ he stammered out, the worlds awkward on his tongue. The raspieness of his voice didn't help either. God, he probably pronounced it all wrong.

But, Hwa-Yong didn't say anything. Instead, she gave Donald a small smile. "It has been a long time since we let a stranger into our home. Usually, your kind would be dead just from being down here. It seems as if you're smart enough to survive down here."

Donald thought about how he had swam out to grab a fish for dinner only for the fish to slap him so hard the Oxy-chew gum flew out and he nearly drowned. "Ha, yeah. Lucky," Donald said, grinning.

"Very lucky! You say that you lived nearby an old palace and that you found a scroll. May we see it?"

"If I give you the scroll, will you help me get back home?" Donald asked, hardly believing his ears. When Hwa-Young nodded, he beamed. "Oh boy! The scroll is back where I used to live along with my rocket. I can grab it in no time!"

One of the elders, a tall siren with dark hair slicked back, poked his way into Donald's bubble. "A rocket?" the siren asked, quirking an eye. "Is that how you got here?"

"Uh, yeah! See, my sister Della wanted to go on one last adventure perferabley in space, but she had just become a mom! She had three eggs to look after! I kept telling her to calm down but she never listened. Then, my uncle Scrooge built this rocket called the Spear of Selene as a surprise. But Della found out and began learning everything she could about space. I found her trying to climb the rocket, ended up pushing her our of it, was being launched into space but the rocket wasn't finished. I ended up crashing underneath into the sea. And now...I'm...here," Donald trailed off, suddenly aware of the incredulous stares he was getting. He couldn't blame them, he did sound like a madman. 

"She was going to abandon her children?!" Hwa-Yong exclaimed, eyes wide. Behind her, the group of sirens were muttering to each other; one of them was shaking her head in disapproval. 

"And you've been living all alone because of her," the tall siren muttered, giving Donald a sympathetic look. "You poor man."

Donald shifted, uncomfortably. He had already accepted the fact that it was both Scrooge and Della's fault that he had ended up in this mess, but hearing it from strangers was different. Maybe it was because it felt right to critisize his own family because he was apart of that family. Even now, a part of Donald wanted to raise his hackles, and tell Hwa-Yong and the others excuses for Della. Except, in this moment, it seemed hard trying to defend her.

"Then, it's settled," Hwa-Yong announced. "We shall help you return home, Donald Duck." Said duck blinked in astonishment. He was so used to trading and debating with other leaders he forgot that other people help others simply for the sake of helping. "We will have a group to make a large bubble to repair your rocket," Hwa-Yong continued. "Send two others to find some energy, and our little trio will help you find the scroll."

Donald stared at the old siren, feeling a lump form in his throat. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you so much."

~

It took four months.

Four months to salvage all of the parts of the _Spear of Selene._ Four months of teaching the sirens different parts of the rocket. Four months of the elders of the village finding enough gold to power the rocked. Four months of living with the sirens, curled up on a bed made out of seaweed in the village. Four months of Donald actually waking up to _talk_ to people.

There were times where his mind wandered off, where Donald froze up because a large bang would bring back those damn memories from the Navy. But, instead of struggling to breathe through anxiety attacks he had Hee-Ra gently reminding Donald that he's here, he's safe. Instead of going to bed with his stomach still empty, there was Kwan pushing a roasted kebab towards him because there was enough food to go around. Instead of dealing with the crushing feeling of being alone, Ji-hun was there jabbering away about anything and everything. 

("Are you afraid to go back?" Ji-hun whispered to him as they lay next to each other, staring up at the darkness of the sea.

Donald shrugged. "Yes. No. I don't really know. All I know is that when I see Della, I'm gonna' punch her for being an idiot."

"As you should." Ji-hun went silent for a moment before rolling over, draping an arm over Donald. "Is it selfish of me to not want to let you go?"

Donald closed his eyes, thinking about how his stomach did flip flops when Ji-hun laughed and how he had traced the twisted scar on the siren's arm with his lips just a night ago. "Not as selfish as me falling for you," he whispered back. The smile Ji-hun gave him was both bitter and joyful at the same time.")

Donad thought about that conversation as he fiddled with the TV. They had managed to hook it up to the engine of the rocket, hoping that it would work. Donald doubted it would, but it felt good to keep his hands busy. He was just about to get up and find a snack when the screen of the TV sputtered to light, making him jump. _'No way...'_

Gloved hands struggle with a TV, moving the antenna this way and that. When an image appeared, the hands back off immediatly. But, the image is marred by static so that it's barely visible. You can hardly see the figures, and the reporter's words are scratchy.

To Donald, it's progress. He grins widely. "Oh, boy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are kicking OFF!

**Author's Note:**

> -No Time To Die is an appropriate song to listen to writing this. Then again I was also listening to Buzzfeed Unsolved  
> -Yeah, Donald hyperventilated and passed out  
> -The whole castle thing will be explained in later chapters. Short story: the whole place sunk like the city of Atlantis and still has some magic in it. Donald will figure that out later.  
> -This story is about Donald surviving, so buckle up for a short-tempered boi trying to live.  
> -I am not following canon in this series so there will be some changes, just a fair warning.
> 
> Hope you all are doing well and enjoy this! See ya in the next one scouts!


End file.
